A History of Mistakes
by bisexualcharliedavis
Summary: I used to wish I'd never met you, so I could meet you again. Now I just wish I'd never met you.
_/Short fic again this week. Dug through my backlog for something to finish. IDK if I'm happy with the ending here, it almost feels like another fic, I'm considering expanding it into it's own fic/chapter. Let me know our thoughts. Feel free to leave a review if you liked it! Warnings for suicide, attempted suicide, eating disorders (lightly touched), POW camps and death. So much death. Also sidepairing hell. The ending of this fic is not meant to be a ~he was crazy the whole time plz and thank~
_

He realized he wasn't ready to go a week ago. But with his birthday soon approaching, Charlie knew his time here, in this life, was soon coming to a close, and he wasn't ready. He liked this life. He liked these people. He's not ready.

"Can I talk to you, Doctor?" Blake looks up at Charlie, and then nods. Charlie smiles slightly and stands up from the doorframe, and sits in the chair across from him. It's all so familiar and yet so unfamiliar to him.

"What can I do for you?" He smiled. Charlie looks at his hands, for several moments, and then looks back up at him.  
"I just want to talk."  
"About what?"  
"I want to tell you something, but you have to promise to hear me out, even if you think I'm crazy."  
"Alright." Blake nods. "I will." Charlie takes in a deep breath.

"You'll think I'm mad, but, I can remember my past lives."  
"Your past lives?" Charlie nods.  
"Who I used to be. Who you used to be. I can remember." There's a silence, and Charlie takes this as permission to continue. "And in all of those lives, the only thing that never changes, is you."

"Me?"  
"You. You're always Lucien Blake, eccentric genius ." Blake looks suitably unimpressed. "And I always find you. No matter what life we live, I always find you."  
"Do you?"  
"I've known you at every stage of your life. Been with you in the war, been your childhood friend, been your lover, your brother, your son, your friend, I know you better then I know anything else. Except this one."  
"This one?"  
"Every life is different." He admitted. "But this is the first, where...Well, where you haven't loved me back." He said, his voice cracking softly.

"Loved you back?" Charlie nods his head.

"Hm." He agreed. "I go from life to life, but you, you never change. I always meet you, even when I try not to, and you always love me back, but I'm too late.'  
"Too late?" He nods.  
"I always, always die before I turn twenty nine."  
"And?"  
"It's my birthday tomorrow, and I can feel it coming."  
"Feel your death?" He nods.  
"Hm."

"You sound like a crazy man. How can one person have so many memories?" Blake asks, leaning forward.  
"I can't remember a whole life." Charlie admits. "Just parts of it." He murmured. "Just the best bits."  
"Tell me some."  
"I think my favorite life, it the one where...We're both in a POW camp, and I die of sepsis. I was so young and afraid. But deep down, I didn't mind, because I knew I would see you soon. And your face, being the last I saw, that made me happy. You were so sweet. You held my head in your lap, stroked my hair and assured me that things would be okay."

"Are there a lot of lives like this one?" Charlie nods his head yes.

"But I've never arrived this late. I'm normally here a lot earlier. A lot sooner. I usually get to spend years with you." He whispered. "I'm sad that I won't get that this time."  
"Why are you telling me?"  
"Because I'm tired." He murmured. "I'm so tired of remembering. Of having to play the part, of trying not to mess your life up with my own."

"Not to mess up my life?" Blake asks, pouring himself a drink, and then offering one to Charlie, who turns it down.

"I don't want your life to be ruined by my looking for you. And by my craving to be near you to ruin any thing we might have."  
"You sound crazy but I think I might believe you."  
"You don't have to lie. I just wanted to get it off my chest." A pause.  
"How many lives have you lived. "  
"Too many." Charlie scoffs, rubbing his face. "Hundreds, probably."  
"Do you remember them all?"  
"Only the good bits." he admits, "And I never really remember until I'm sixteen or so. I just have an inexplicable longing for you." He murmurs. "I didn't want to upset you."  
"I'm not upset. Just...Curious."  
"Ask away. "he said, leaning over and taking a sip from Blake's glass before returning it to him. Blake rolled his eyes.  
"What is the ideal life?" Charlie looked very thoughtful. And he thinks about it for a good five minutes.

What was his ideal life? He liked this life. He liked the variety. He liked Lawson the way he was and he liked Mattie. He liked Mrs Beazley as the house keeper and he liked Blake as the doctor and he liked this version of himself as well.

"Any life where you kill me, or the ones where I go out in your arms." He said, softly.  
"You die in my arms?"

"Often." He smiles, "The lives where your face I the last thing I see...Those are the best ones." He smiled.

"And you think this one will be like that?" Charlie shrugged slightly.  
"I've died in your arms. I've died alone in alleyways."

"I could never live like that."

"Well luckily you don't have too. Anyway. I don't know why you'd want to. You haven't got a Blake to look forward too."

"You look forward to me?" Charlie nods with a slight smile.  
"Of course" He said, before standing, walking around to Blake's side of the desk and giving him a tight hug half bent over at the waist and he pressed a slightly chaste kiss to Blake's forehead in a very un-Charlie like way.

"You really think you're going to die?"  
"I know I am." He smiled, slightly. "Thank you, Lucien. You made this a good life." He said, softly. Blake nods, and after a moment, tugs Charlie back into the hug.  
"I won't forget you." He said, softly. Charlie suddenly burst into tears. Blake became alarmed and held him closer.

"You always say that." He breathed softly. "You always promise me you'll remember." He pulled back, and gave Blake a teary smile wider then any other Blake had ever seen grace his features. He stands, and heads towards the door, pausing when there to glance back at him, and then going up to his bedroom.

…

When he's alone, he finally takes the time to think about the Blake he missed the most. His Blake. The one from hundreds of lives ago, from the first life.

Back when things were new. Back when even he was new.

He remembers how gentle his hands were as he smoothed Charlie's hair back from his bloody face.

"Please hold on." he pleaded, "Help is on the way!" he swears, as Charlie's eyes fall halfway shut. Blake pulls him close, holding Charlie's head against his chest, and even if he's dying and Blake is swearing that he won't, all Charlie can think is how much he loves the feeling of Blake's arms around him.

…

"He just kept asking for you." Mattie said softly, as Blake followed her down the hospital hallway.  
"How bad is it?" Blake asked in a hushed voice.

"He...He hasn't got long." Mattie said, after several moments. "He was one of the closest to the explosion. It's a miracle he lasted as long as he did." Blake nods, and sighed softly. Imagine dying on your twenty ninth birthday. He pushed open the door, and stepped inside, but nothing could have prepared him the sheer extent of the burns all over his body. "He's in shock." Mattie said, after a moment. "He's on a lot of morphine too." Blake nods, and steps over, taking Charlie's unburnned hand tightly between his.  
"I'm here Charlie." He said, softly, leaning in so Charlie didn't have to turn his head to see him. Charlie smiled slightly, as much as he could, and hazy eyes met with Blake's.

"Don't be sad..." Charlie said, in a raspy choked voice. "I'll see you soon." Blake nods, and pressed a kiss to the back of Charlie's hand.

"I'm sure ." He promised. Charlie nods, and lets his eyes rest on Blake for a long moment,

"...This is enough." He breathes. Blake feels a tear escape his eye and trickle down his face. Charlie tilts his head slightly, bur says nothing. Blake ensures that he is the last thing Charlie sees before his eyes close for the last time, and he hopes, for Charlie's sake, that the next Bake is better then he.

…

Imagine a whole lifetime without knowing a Blake. He had never thought it was possible because for as long as he can remember, Blake had always been there. And now he wasn't. Charlie wonders, briefly if maybe telling him last time changed something, but he's not sure. He stands on the end of the building ledge, toes just off the edge, his hat having fallen off his head and down onto the ground below him some time ago. He'd joined the police, thinking this was a life where he would go to Ballarat, but that had never happened. Blake has never died before him, he thinks, watching the ground for several minutes.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" The voice behind him asks. Charlie doesn't have to turn to know that it's the Doctor. His eyes water.  
"If I don't then someone else will."

"Really?" Blake asks, softly. Charlie watches the world below him with sad eyes. He nods his head. Of course he would meet Blake on his twenty ninth birthday. Of course that would be it. He turns his head slightly to see Blake with sad eyes.

"Why come now?" He asks.  
"Because you're about to jump of a building." He replied.  
"You've had twenty nine years to show up and you don't until it's too late." He murmured. Perhaps it was his own bitterness speaking now. Blake had had twenty nine years to show up and be a part of his life and now it was too late.

"Pardon?" Blake asks, moving down the roof towards him.

"No!"Charlie said, moving closer to the edge of the roof, "Don't come any closer!" He shouted, his toes edge toward the ledge, unable to find it in himself to throw himself down below and miss out on knowing Blake, even for a few seconds.

'

"Come here, please!" Blake pleads now, "If you die, then you have no chance to fix whatever is wrong." Charlie hesitates. He's so young. Must only be thirty something, his age. Not his Blake, then. But a Blake. Still; any Blake is better then no Blake. So he turns; and steps down of the ledge, taking two shaky steps in Blake's direction, before everything blacks out suddenly, and the previously unseen pill bottle drops from his fingers.

…

Lives like this one were the worst, he thinks, watching Blake adjust his police uniform from his desk. Lives where Blake took on the role of Munro were always the worst. While Charlie has lived though so many different types of lives, the ones where Blake is not a kind, warm doctor are the ones he hates most. Perhaps this was because of his real Blake, the one that he had known in his first lifetime, the one who tripped him up stairs and told him jokes, not these other ones. Some of them were good, some were bad.

But they were always different, and he remained the same. Every life, was more or less the same. Born, lose his father, become a police man, meet Blake. Sometimes other events inturrupted, like wars or the occasion where his meeting with Blake is only fleeting, for the most, this is the story of his life, the one he's doomed to live, over and over again.

"Constable." He looks up, and turns his head to face the not Blake. "Head out to a property in Nareena, there's been a reported break in." He stands, and Blake stands as well. Charlie's done this enough times to know where this is going. He follows after Blake to the car, and sat in the passenger seat. He doesn't want to die, but it's about that time, anyway. Blake begins the driving, while Charlie gazes out the window until he's pulled back to the real world by a strict

"Davis." Hearing Blake address him by his last name still fills him with dread and sadness.

"Sir." he replied, softly.  
"There's something you should know." he said, and Charlie nods slightly. "I...Knew your father." Charlie turns to gaze at him now.

"You did?" Blake nods.  
"I worked the beat with him." He explained, "Took me under his wing when I was still trying to work out which way was up." Charlie just nods perhaps slightly sadly.

"He was good like that." he said, softly.

"He was a good man." Blake agrees, his hands tightening slightly on the wheel. Charlie feels like he's watching the whole thing traspire from a window out of his way. As if he wasn't really there. "His own man." Hearing Blake's voice wrap around those words make them sting all the worse. Because they weren't Blake's words and he just wishes that he could stop remembering. Before Charlie has any chance to reply, everything blacks out.

When he wakes up, the two of them are lying in some kind of ditch, and he can't feel anything under his waist. Crushed and twisted metal fills his sight and smoke fills his nose. "Blake?" He calls out, unsure of what had just happened.  
"Here!" He calls, crawling out of the twisted metal to Charlie's left and around to him. Blake carefully examines what the car as done to his hips. "Oh God." He said softly.  
"Is it bad?" he asked, even though he knows the answer. Blake doesn't answer, just kid of sits and props Charlie's head in his lap. Charlie looked up at him with sad eyes. He hesitantly moves one hand to Blake's face, who leans forward and allows his bloody fingers to touch his smooth cheek gently.

"Hm." He said, softly, and continued to watch him for a long several moments.

"I'm sorry." Blake whispers, clasping Charlie's hand tightly in his own. Charlie just keeps looking at him, and thinks about the hundreds of him have already used the thought of that it won't be long until he sees Blake again to comfort himself in his dying moments. He wants to stop existing.

"Don't be." he replies, voice soft. "Just promise you'll remember me." He whispered.  
"Of course." Blake promises. Charlie smiles at him, and allows his eyes to close.

…

For every life Charlie can remember, there must at least ten he only recalls vaguely. But the first Blake, he's always the most vivid. He turns to look at this Blake, asleep next to him, fifty, the right age, the right looks, the right position, but not his Blake. He loved this Blake, he did, loved him enough to sleep with him and kiss him and hold him, but he wasn't the right Blake. None of them were the right Blake. He threw a glance at their entwined fingers, his own long, spidery ones wrapped in Blake's. He likes these moments, when it's just the two of them. He likes the feelings and the kisses and the gentle touches but it's not his Blake. Can never be his Blake. And yet here he is. Again. His mouth twisted into something like a smile.

He wonders if he will go mad, it's a possibility, certainly. How many memories can one mind hold before breaking? Will there be a Blake to compensate him for that, he wonders, pressing his feet around the hidden feel of this Blake. There is only one hand to hold in this universe, but he doesn't mind too much. At all, even. The personality is so close to being right he can almost forgive him for not being the right Blake.

But he likes this life. Mattie is lying with Jean in the room next door, as if their arrangement. Mattie and Jean. Himself and Blake. Himself and Mattie. Jean and Blake. A matter of mutually assured destruction, all things considered. It's not a bad life, for certain. A small part of him knows that this is a life that he will never have again, and to make the most of the years that he has with this Doctor, because he loves him. He loves all the Blakes he's ever met, in his own way.

Silence reigns king in the nights, he thought, lifting their joined fingers for more kisses. It's peaceful, for once.

…

While the worst in terms of quality of life, Prisoner of War lives tended to be his favorite. Blake might punch him if he heard that but really, and truly, there was someone so good about dying in the comfort of his arms. Something Charlie craved. Something warm and soft that he is drowning in. He rarely considers what will become of his body by now, just that he is dying and that Blake is here for him. Holding him.

A hand smooths hair back, the firm press of a cup to his lips. Belongs to Blake, he is sure. He is so kind. "Lucien." He mumbles, it comes out soft and sad. "You drink it."

"You need it more, Charlie." Blake replied, his usual warm self, but it's stained with worry, the bad sort. It's his last moment of being truly lucid.

He accepts the water, and feels the warmth of the gathering soldiers as they held him. He sees Blake crying. But he's gone before he can consider it.

…

He loves this Rose Anderson. He feels bad, spending time away from Lucien, but he loves this Rose Anderson. He wants to marry her. Have kids. Pretend he won't die before he turns twenty nine. The worse part is that she feels the same.

They are kissing in the living room, seated on the couch, being scolded by Jean for being so public when it occurs to him. He has to break her heart. He doesn't want to. How can he when he loves her so dearly. But he has to. He has to.

He doesn't. How could he? He swears that he will never love again after this life, because it hurt him too much keep on going on breaking hearts. Blood is rushing from his side at a speed now, he's holding on but he hasn't got any time left. He's sorry. He's so sorry. He wants Blake. He wants Rose. He wants to go home.

…

Somewhere deep inside the Ballarat asylum, there is a man asking for him, was all Blake knew. Accompanied by a man in white, he approached the little room where they kept him. Charlie, he name was. He sat on the floor, arms pulled close to his chest, starring out the door, eyes blank, before moving to look at him. He leans forward slightly, his face filling with slight warmth. He reached one hand forward, before dropping it and looking away.

"Charlie?" he asked, softly, kneeling down at his level. Charlie keeps his eyes away for a while, before looking back, and gently placing one cold white hand on his face. He was thin, but Blake thought that was less from exercise and more from not eating for great stretches in time. From what he understands, Charlie here attempted to kill himself four times before being turned over by his family. He doesn't know how Charlie knows him.

"Lucien Blake." He whispered, voice so badly damaged he could hardly make out the words.

"In the flesh." The hand stays in place until he moves it away, seemingly unable to hold his arm up. "What can I do for you, Charlie?" Maybe Jean was right. Maybe this was a bad idea.

"Will you sit with me?" He asked, softly.  
"Alright." Blake said, not willing to begrudge such a simple request from a man who was institutionalized so young, at twenty, apparently. And been in this room intermittently ever since.

"Can I ask you something?" Blake nods. "Do you remember me?" Blake shakes his head no. Charlie laughs softly, bitterly.

"How do we know each other?"  
"We don't." Charlie replied, eyes forward. "But we used to." Blake frowns, but doesn't question it much further. He lets Charlie put his head onto his shoulder, and gazes at his long, spidery fingers, with prominent knuckles and wasting muscle.

"Where?"

"Another life. As children." He said, "Only briefly. But I loved you." Blake nods, he doesn't remember a Charlie Davis from his childhood, but then again he also doesn't remember much of his childhood.

They sit for a long time, Blake allowing Charlie to take whatever he needed from the meeting. But visiting hours end and he has to leave. Charlie watches him,eyes deep blue. He tugs his knees to his chest. Blake offers him a tiny smile.

"I will come back another time." He promises, and he means it. He really does. Charlie seems mistrustful.

But he does. A week later, he arrives, and asks to see Charlie, who is just as he was before. Young and small and wrapped into a tiny ball on his bed. Blake sat, and put a hand on his back. Charlie looked up with one eye, drawn from his mind. Blake knows he would die if he had to spend so much time in the same room. Charlie doesn't unfold himself.

"How was your week?" He asked, conversationally.

"I don't know how long that is." Charlie said, after a moment.

"Seven days." Silence.  
"How many meals is that?"

"How many meals do you get?"

"One when it's dark and one when it's light."  
"Fourteen meals."

"Quiet." Blake nodded, and slowly stroked his hand over Charlie's back. Charlie didn't have much else to say, but did ask him to sit with him again, and to hold his hand, which Blake obliged.

It must be miserable, to have been here for ten years.


End file.
